


Gunplay

by veronamay



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Early Work, Gunplay, M/M, Twincest, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-15
Updated: 2005-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy likes guns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunplay

The cops sneaked them out the back door while the chief and the FBI guy made a statement out front. It felt weird to be leaving on good terms, though Connor didn't know why; they'd never been in any trouble before now, and they weren't being charged anyway. Pre-emptive guilty conscience, maybe? Holy mission or no, they were still going to be killing people.

That thought led to another: guns. They'd need serious firepower if they were going to go through with this. He looked at Murphy as they slipped around a corner and into an alley, raising his eyebrows.

"Get the details?" Murphy asked. Connor nodded and showed him the scrap of paper he'd torn from the wall.

"We'll need guns," he said. "Lots of 'em."

Murphy grinned, his teeth sharp and flashing in the pale morning sun. He patted Connor's coat pocket, its contents clinking.

"Best go see Liam, then," he said.

* * *

Half an hour later they were somewhat poorer, Connor had his rope and Murphy was very turned on.

"Half a minute!" Connor protested as they fell through the door into the apartment, Murphy wrapped around him to the point of tripping. "We don't have time for this, you knob."

"Can't help it," Murphy muttered into his neck. "Guns, Connor. All those fuckin' _guns_." He bit down, not gently, and Connor's heart rate doubled. All the blood left his head for regions south and he dropped his carrybag, not caring where it landed.

"Shh," he said, putting his hands on Murphy's hips and angling them towards his bed. "All right then, but slow down a little, aye? You're a bit ahead of me."

Murphy kissed him hard, biting his lip. "Catch up," he said. "Or I'll go on without ye."

 _That_ got Connor's full attention, and Murphy noticed. He leaned back and surveyed Connor with one eyebrow raised, the slightest of smiles playing on his mouth.

"Like that idea, do you?"

Connor was flushed, his pulse racing. The apartment was suddenly too warm, and he struggled out of his coat. To see Murphy working himself, those long fingers moving up and down his erect cock while Connor got to watch....

"We don't have time," he murmured again, but it didn't matter. Murphy was going to do it anyway, was unbuttoning his jeans and thrusting his hand inside, the picture of porn star debauchery with his t-shirt rucked up out of the way, knees sprawled wide on the bed so Connor had a perfect view. Those pretty hands began pulling and stroking, an up-and-down motion that Connor could describe without having to look, since it was the same stroke he used on himself. A sharp smell of pre-come filled the air and Connor's mouth began to water.

"Can I..." he started, but Murphy kneed his way back a couple of paces on the bed, shaking his head.

"Uh-uh," Murphy said. He was beginning to pant. "We _really_ don't have time for that." He stared at Connor, his eyes glazing over a bit, mouth wet from licking his lips.

"Get a gun," he said, and Connor jolted.

"What?"

"An Uzi ... no, wait, one of the ... oh ... handguns," Murphy panted, shoving his jeans further down his hips with one hand. "Hurry _up_ , Connor!" and Connor scrambled off the bed and rummaged through one of the bags, his eyes never leaving Murphy's hands. His own erection rubbed against his zipper and he spared a hand to squeeze it as he picked up one of the guns.

"Now what?" he asked. Murphy was well into it, his hips rolling with every stroke, his gaze following Connor's movements as he came back to the bed.

"Just ... hold it," Murphy said, closing his eyes briefly. "No – come here, come closer," and Connor hurried to do _that_ , because he wasn't entirely stupid. Murphy grabbed him and kissed him, deep and slow, leaving him breathless and not caring what he had to do next, if it kept Murphy in this mood. He swayed when Murphy let him go, and put his arm on Murphy's shoulder for balance. The gun brushed against Murphy's nipple, which puckered instantly.

"Holy fuck," Murphy breathed. "Do that again." His eyes closed again and stayed closed, and his hand sped up the smallest fraction. Connor stared at him for a second, then slowly brought the gun – unloaded, thank God – back down, brushing over Murphy's other nipple. Murphy jerked and bit his lip, then pushed up against the metal like a cat.

"Murph—" Connor said, but didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound stupid and girly, so he just let the gun trail over Murphy's chest, drawing circles, spelling out words he didn't – couldn't – speak aloud. Murphy shuddered and scrabbled at his t-shirt, pulling it up, and Connor took the hint and slid the gun underneath, bumping it down over Murphy's ribs, dipping it delicately into his navel, the steel rapidly warming in his hand.

" _Christ_ , Connor," Murphy said, and came up off his thighs, thrusting his hips forward. Connor circled the muzzle of the gun around the base of Murphy's cock, moving it up and down the shaft in between Murphy's fingers, just barely touching it to the soaking-wet tip and pressing gently, so gently in. Murphy made a strangled sound and pushed the gun away, his hands lightning-quick now, and three seconds later Connor watched as he came all over his hands, slumping in a boneless heap on the bed. Small tremors shook him and a smile of pure bliss spread over his face.

Connor cleared his throat and ignored the pounding demand in his groin.

"Better?" he asked, and Murphy laughed.

"Oh aye," he said, folding his arms behind his head. "All I need now is a beer and a nap, and all shall be right with the world."

"Well, that'll have to wait till later," Connor said. "We've an appointment with the Russian mafia in thirty minutes." He nudged Murphy with the gun. "Get your lazy arse dressed; we have to go."

Murphy sat up, frowning. "What about you?" he asked, reaching for Connor's zipper. Connor rolled off the bed.

"I told you we didn't have time for this," he said. "We'll have to save me for later." He saw Murphy's frown deepen and grinned at him. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna let you forget, Murph."

"But—"

"Shh," Connor said, and kissed him to shut him up. "Get dressed and let's go. I'll keep. Stamina of age, you know."

Murphy rolled his eyes, but stood up and stripped off his t-shirt, cleaning his hand on it. Connor looked outside; the weather had turned. He went over to the equipment bags and pulled out a couple of black turtlenecks.

"Put this on," he said. "It'll hide the tattoos – and it's cold out."

"Yes, Ma," Murphy answered, and stuck his tongue out. But the love-look was fading from his eyes now, and he put on the sweater without delay. They could come back to this interlude later, Connor thought, and would; but first, they had some business to attend to.


End file.
